


You are my sweetest downfall

by HistoriaGloria



Series: Undeadwood [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Background Mirabella if you squint, Clayson, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Post-Canon, Sexual Content, UnDeadwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 04:29:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21220586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HistoriaGloria/pseuds/HistoriaGloria
Summary: 'But here they are again. Five people brought together by sheer dumb luck and it’s that same stupid fate that sees them just outside of Deadwood, spread across the plains as the undead keep shambling towards them, guns out.And Clayton turns just in time to see Matthew, his Matthew, collapse forward on to one knee.'





	You are my sweetest downfall

**Author's Note:**

> Well okay  
I had told myself I wasn't going to write Clayson until Undeadwood was finished and well  
HERE WE ARE.  
It's just real Good.  
Some minor spoilers for Episode Two, relating to actions the characters took.  
Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this!
> 
> Title is from Samson by Regina Spektor:  
'And the Bible didn't mention us, not even once.  
You are my sweetest downfall.  
I loved you first."

“Reverend!” The shout comes from Miriam, sharp and panicked and Clayton feels bile rise up in his throat.

He thought they were over all this.

They had all thought that they could go back to their not-so-quiet lives in Deadwood.

But here they are again. Five people brought together by sheer dumb luck and it’s that same stupid fate that sees them just outside of Deadwood, spread across the plains as the undead keep shambling towards them, guns out.

And Clayton turns just in time to see Matthew, _his Matthew, _collapse forward on to one knee.

Four, lovely peaceful months they have spent in the relative quiet of Deadwood. Four months of Matthew trying to rebuild the church and Clayton watching with a smile. Four months of laughter with Arabella and Aloysius and Miriam, especially after the sudden death of Arabella’s husband. Four months of not worrying so much about people following him. Four months of no damned undead.

Clayton should have known not to get complacent.

Clayton regrets it all now as he watches Matthew fall into the dirt, yards away from him, undead all around him. He curses loudly under his breath and spins his colts in his hands, firing desperately.

“Fall back!” shouts Aloysius, his voice cracking with fear as he scrambles back.

“Matthew!” Clayton cries out and he suddenly doesn’t care that his voice pitches wildly or that anyone around him could know that Matthew means the world to him. He runs forward, snarling curses which would make the reverend scold him, firing wildly at the creatures encroaching on his partner.

“Mister Sharpe, get back!” yelps Arabella in panic, but Clayton doesn’t care. He is going to get to Matthew if it kills him. One of the zombies fires at him and it catches Clayton’s hand but he doesn’t stop firing or running.

Matthew is an unmoving lump on the ground and Clayton is still feet from him and there are zombies all around and he is not going to make it, he’s not going to be able to save him…

Everything goes black.

* * *

_Clayton is curled up in bed, the blanket loosely pooled around his waist as he listens to Matthew slowly wake up beside him. He’s always so grumpy in the mornings that Clayton just lies there until he wakes. Today, he feels Matthew press a soft kiss between his shoulder blades. It makes Clayton tremble, the easy affection that Matthew provides. _

_“I love you, Clayton Sharpe,” whispers Matthew against his skin and Clayton rolls over to look up into the soft face of his partner. _

_“I know,” he replies quietly. “I love you, Matthew.” His face softens at the admission and Matthew strokes one thumb over Clayton’s cheekbone. The day is lazy and sun-kissed, and Clayton really cannot imagine wanting to be anywhere but right here._

* * *

_ “Oh, good Lord, Cl-Clay!” Matthew begs and Clayton almost laughs, pressed over and inside his partner. He always looks so good like this; flushed bright red against the sheets of the bed which might have once been white. _

_“Yes, Matt?” he drawls, driving himself inside the reverend over and over just to hear him howl and whimper in ecstasy. He moves one hand from where it was bracketing the other man to slide it up his dick and Matthew trembles. _

_“Clayton, please, please…” he whines, throwing his head back. Clayton can’t stop himself from dropping his head to bite and suck at the base of his neck, knowing that any marks he leaves will be hidden by the collar he always wears. Matthew is always the most beautiful when debauched and Clayton will never know what he has done to deserve to see a man so holy completely lost in pleasure._

_“Clayton, I’m-” he yelps and Clay takes pity on Matthew, twisting his hand around his cock. It takes seconds before the other spills across his hands. And only moments later, Clayton is grunting out his own wordless prayer to Matthew as he releases deep inside the man._

_Clay is not religious by any means, but he would worship Matthew to the ends of the earth._

* * *

_Matthew is holding him as he shakes, the moon high in the sky as Clayton only manages to piece together reality from the nightmare. He was running, running, desperate to be away, to be hidden, to hide all the terrible parts of his soul. _

_And yet, here is Matthew. A reverend. He holds Clayton like he is more precious than the rosary that always hangs from his fingers, murmuring in his ear. _

_“You’re safe, you’re safe, Clay, I’m right here and I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” he promises and Clayton chokes on his tears. _

_“You don’t know what I’ve done, Matt,” he chokes out. Matthew never stops holding him. _

_“I don’t care. You’re mine, Clayton and I won’t let anything hurt you,” he assures him, kissing his hair over and over._

_“You’re mine, Clay and nothing is going to hurt you anymore.”_

* * *

In the dark space, Clayton hears a familiar voice.

The Dealer.

“How would you like to dispel your hate? What would you give to save him?” And before Clayton can even think about it, he answers,

“I would give my entire life to save him. I would give _anything._”

“Then, let’s play a game,” says the Dealer and the world returns. Clayton is stood mere feet away from Matthew and his entire body is thrumming with power. He _howls _in rage at the approaching undead and flings out his hands instinctively as a blast of pure arcane power rockets from him, flinging the zombies away from both him and the reverend. It gives him just enough time to lunge forward and grab Matthew.

“Fall the fuck back!” shouts Aloysius from behind him and Clayton doesn’t need telling twice. He drags Matthew with one hand as he shoots with the other, catching a zombie in the chest as he retreats towards Deadwood. He drags Matthew back past Arabella, who steps back with him, her own revolver in her hand. But they are far from cover and there are still 5 or 6 zombies coming at them. A bullet catches Arabella in the chest and she grunts in pain but stays upright.

“Bella!” yells Miriam and suddenly, she is in front of them. “Oh no you fucking don’t.” Fire blazes in her hands, creating a huge cone like Aloysius had when they had first fought creatures like this months ago. Two more zombies drop, and they have almost reached Deadwood now, but Matthew isn’t showing any sign of moving in Clayton’s grip.

_How would you like to dispel your hate? _

Clayton growls. He spins his colt and fires, over and over, taking down one zombie, then two and Arabella and Miriam join him, desperate and panicked.

And then, there is only one left. And Clayton howls to the skies as he fires and fires, emptying his gun into the creature until it completely stops moving.

It’s then that he realises there are fierce, angry tears streaming down his cheeks. Miriam appears to be fussing over Arabella beside him but all he can see is Matthew on the ground at his feet, his clothes soaked with blood.

He remembers vividly giving Matthew a leather duster when they first met, to protect his reverend’s garb, now ruined by the rich seep of blood all the way up to his collar from his chest. Clayton drops to his knees beside his partner and scoops him up his arms, shaking.

Someone touches his shoulder and he snarls, but they don’t recoil.

“Let’s get him to the doc,” they say. Miriam. He can hear Aloysius talking again too. They’re all talking. Everyone but _Matt. _He lets Miriam usher him to his feet and lead him back into Deadwood, but Clayton isn’t really there. He is walking because that is what he is supposed to do. Internally, Clayton Sharpe is as lifeless as the man who lies in his arms.

* * *

The doctor does what he can for Matthew, but he doesn’t know whether or not it’ll be enough. They settle the reverend in his little room in the church and Clayton takes up a vigil on the one chair in that room. 

Days pass. Miriam, Arabella and Aloysius visit every day and they try to make Clay sleep or eat, but he refuses. He doesn’t even speak.

He just waits to see whether or not the game he has played has paid off.

Four days. Four days pass and Clayton remains still at Matthew’s beside. It is late afternoon on the fourth day; Miriam and Arabella have just left after being unsuccessful at getting Clayton to move or speak again.

The afternoon sun is weakly streaming into the room and Reverend Matthew Mason shifts. Clayton is alert immediately and Matthew groans, his eyelids fluttering as he awakes. Clayton feels like he could cry.

“Cl’y?” he mumbles and blinks up at the gunslinger. “Clay?”

“Stay still, fool, you’re still weak,” Clayton replies, his voice cracking sharply with disuse. Matthew blinks up at him and smiles dopily like he had hung the sun.

“Clayton…” he repeats, shifting one hand over to brush against the other’s fingers. “Hey…”

“Don’t you ever, _ever _scare me like that again, Matt,” Clay whispers, leaning down to kiss Matthew’s head carefully.

“I don’t remember… oh. Yes. The undead.”

“That was four days ago, Matthew! You’ve been out for four fucking days. The doc didn’t know if you were gonna wake up. I didn’t know if you were gonna wake up.” Matt looks crestfallen and tilts his head a little.

“That… that long?” he asks quietly and Clayton nods, willing the tears in his eyes to not fall. “I’m sorry, Clayton… I’m so sorry.” The gunslinger just leans his head down to press their foreheads together.

“Just, don’t do it to me ever again, Matt. Inches to the left and you’d be dead. _Inches._” Clayton feels a hand gently press against his cheek.

“I won’t. I promise. I’ll be right here, Clay. I promised you, huh? I promised I’d look after you like you look after me,” Matthew says, his voice weak with tears. “I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

“What is it about the phrase ‘a week of bed rest’ do you not _goddamn _get, Matthew?” Clayton growls as he hears the floorboards creak across the room from him. 8 days after the zombie attack and Matt is already trying to get up and get back to work within Deadwood.

Luckily, he has Clayton to scare him back into bed. Matthew freezes as Clayton looks up from cleaning his colts, half out of the bed.

“I just… I was… Um…” he mutters and all it takes is one cold eyebrow raise from Clay to get him back into the bed.

“Don’t make me go get Miriam to make sure you stay in bed.”

“I’d like to keep my legs, thank you,” says Matthew meekly.

“Then stay put.”

“Then join me?” The statement is posed as a question, but almost playful and Clayton tilts his head, looking over at the reverend who is putting on his picture-of-innocence face. He rolls his eyes but puts his guns down.

“You have weaponised that stare, I’m sure,” Clayton mutters as he comes to lie in the bed. Matthew wastes no time in cuddling up to his chest.

“It only works on you,” he promises, chin resting on the other’s ribcage. “It’s a very special stare.”

Clay manages a wry smile in response.

“Is that true?” he asks, placing his hand in Matt’s hair. The other man nods, smiling in that easily affectionate way he has.

“Everything I have is only for you,” he says sincerely, and Clayton is reminded of his own words.

_I would give anything for him. _

“I love you,” he blurts out, rubbing his fingers over the short edges of his hair. Matthew beams up at him.

“I know, Clay. I love you too.”

And here, despite the injuries that Matthew has and the run-down nature of the room and more so the town around them, Clayton Sharpe feels happy.

He feels at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on Twitter or Tumblr, HistoriaGloria on both! I am always here to talk about Critical Role.


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